


Alpha Twin

by Oakley



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Blood, Gen, I just don't want people being really angry at me if I don't tag it lol, Kid Fic, Not that much though, Pain, Reality is an illusion, Rick Being an Asshole, Stan has add!, The Universe Is a Hologram, add children, but a good asshole, buy gold, bye, hahaha problems with sitting at a fucking desk in school, have fun, i honestly don't know since I have adhd and it looks different in women!, or adhd!, tw blood, tw for hand pain, uhhhhh, wooooooooooooo!, wubba lubba dub dub!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oakley/pseuds/Oakley
Summary: When Stan and Ford's parents decide to send them off to their own separate camps for the summer, the boys agonize over their parents being so dumb and predictable. Rick offers a pretty irresistible solution. Also points for Stan being a cute little fuckwit with focus issues because he and his brother deserve all the love.





	Alpha Twin

Stanley and Stanford Pines had a bit of an unconventional friend growing up. He would come hang out with them on Glass Shard Beach by taking up residency on one of the swings and shooting the shit for several hours before unceremoniously mumbling some excuse and disappearing through a portal he’d conjure up with some vacuum-cleaner looking device. 

The twins would have been shocked by this behavior if they were older, but seeing as they're just coming to that age where they're beginning to form their own understanding of reality, this easily slides into that without too much psychological turmoil. 

This is one of the reasons Ford was interested in science to begin with, the fact that these people - these devices - could exist, but no one else seemed to share this interest with him save for his brother, Stanley. Stanley didn't want to check out books from the library or to conduct lengthy, confusing experiments, however. He was more hands-on with his love of the unknown. He wanted to touch, to breathe it, to live alongside it.

Then one day, their father signed them up for extracurricular activities - separately - and they ran down to the swings one last time before parting ways for the rest of summer. Stanley and Ford breathe out a sigh of relief when they see the graying man already seated and swaying half-heartedly. He looked so ghostly when they weren’t talking to him, like some part of him shut off when he wasn’t around people. 

Stanley giggled at Ford for his brief idea about doing something idiotic - like leaving a note underneath a swing for the man in case he wasn’t there - and teased him briefly about his “crush,” then ran towards the swingset. 

Ford kicked the sand and walked idly towards them, watching as Stanley quickly got to what he did best - chattering on about nothing and leading people unwillingly into his sphere of understanding. Rick laughed at the attempt. He seemed to be in higher spirits than usual - which could mean anything, really, including that he was probably further depressed. They chatted idly about school and monsters and such until Ford followed an impulse and came up behind Rick on the swing and started pushing him. Rick reeled forward for a moment before righting himself. 

“D-damn, kid, you’re strong.” 

Ford huffed, but continued to push Rick on the swings. 

“What’s -uurp- wrong with being hefty? You wanna - you want to look like a twig, Stanford?” 

Ford laughed and shared a knowing look with his brother. 

“I like being ‘hefty,’ actually. It’s just that dad won’t sign me up for boxing lessons. He says I have ‘potential’ with my smarts and that I shouldn’t worry about being able to clock someone in case they come up behind me.” 

Rick stopped swinging and gave that notion a once-over with the usual dead-eyed stare. 

“Well, that’s the biggest heap of stinking shit I ever heard. I’m - I’m a scientist, you know? I’m always in trouble. That’s part - that’s just part of science.” 

“It is?”

“Yeah, your dad can lick my balls.” 

Stanley cleared his throat at  _ that _ mental image. 

“And I thought I’d finally be able to learn something outside a stupid ol’ classroom.” 

He drew lines in the sand with his feet. 

“So -uuuuurp- so, why don’t you just switch places?” 

Stan gave him a long, long look. 

“Just trade glasses or some shit.”

Ford cleared his throat. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but one of us has two extra fingers.” 

He sounded more afraid of Rick finally noticing than he should have, considering. 

“Holy Shit!” Rick yelled, throwing himself at Stan. “Only one of you has that? How - how is that even fucking possible? Polydactyly is the dominant trait! Hoooooooooly shit, Stanley, you could have like, like, eaten your other half in the womb or some shi-!” 

Stanley laughed at the uncharacteristic attention being drawn to his fingers and shouted, “ALPHA TWIN! ALPHA TWIN!” while pumping his other free fist in the air.

But Rick was checking Stan’s fingers for something - and then he found it, a tiny little scar between each of his ring and pinky fingers. 

“Aw, fffffuck.” 

Stan pulled his hands back, confused and startled. 

“One sec-” Rick turned his back on them and vomited. This happened quite often, as it turns out.

“What? What is it?” Ford asked, taking his brother’s hands to inspect for himself. 

“Alpha . . . Twin?” Stanley said, an eyebrow raised.    
  
Ford scoffed and elbowed his brother in the ribs and then Rick turned back around, rubbing at his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. A bit of sick had soaked into the fabric just before his elbow and Stan’s focus shifted to that and then his mind wandered. How much vomit would it take to replace the ocean? What would even qualify as “replacing” the ocean? Half-full or more? Would that mean they all had to drink Rick’s  _ vomit  _ to stay alive? He only returned to reality when his brother let out a very un-Ford-like gasp.

“Really?!” 

Ford grabbed Stan’s hands again and Rick pointed out the tiny little scars. 

“Stan! Stan, do you know what this means?” 

There is a silence that Stan knows he is responsible for. 

“Um, sorry, I kind of spaced out there.”

“Jesus H. Christ, kid. Don’t space out on your own goddamn origin story.” 

Stan recoiled a bit before saying, “it’s not my fault, it just happens. Why does everybody-” 

Rick waved his hand in the air a few times to shut him up. 

“I know, I know. And this is, what? The seventies? Sixties? Look out for ADD and ADHD medication when it becomes a thing. That’ll blow your fucking mind. Actually, I’ll bet I could get some for you - at a price, you know. I’m -uuurp- trying to be a good dude here. Most of the artists who survived the sharp-edge razor of history - like Vincent Van Gogh - had ADHD, so you might want to create something before you become a pill-popper, but - but like - anyway, you were also born with six digits or wha-whatever.” 

Stan stared at him in disbelief. 

“What?” 

Rick sighed and grabbed the Stanley’s hands once again. Although Stanley was enjoying all the special attention, he’d never felt so put on display in his life, and so a piece of him shrank inward even though he knew they meant well. 

“You see those little slits in your skin? Those aren’t naturally occurring. And nine times outta ten, that’s where the sixth finger spits through. It’s incredible that not -urp- not only was Stanford born with a 6th finger on each hand, let alone that - that they’re all functional, Stanley. And guess what, dipshit? You had it, too!” 

All the noise in Stanley’s head abruptly stopped and he stared down at his fingers. Ford was laughing - or shivering? Or both? 

“Hahaha! Wubba lubba dub dub!” 

“But wait - if I was born with it, then what happened?” Stanley asked, and the air around them went cold. 

“St-Stan, they - mom and dad, they had to’ve gotten them removed.” Ford said quiety, horrified. 

Rick planted a solid hand down on Ford’s shaking shoulder - probably more to steady himself than the eight-year-old having a crisis below him - and burped to get their attention. 

“Yeah, fuck that shit, let’s get ‘em back! I’ll be back in a bit - hold tight.” 

And he disappeared through another vacuum-portal. 

They looked at each other nervously, Stan’s fingers still protected within Ford’s own. 

“What does he mean by that?” 

\--------

An hour later, Stanley’s screaming in agony, face down on the sand of glass shard beach while his brother’s crying, “oh my god, oh - oh my  _ god,” _ and trying his best to comfort his brother without causing any more pain. 

Rick sits easily on the swings next to them, a not-quite-happy look on his face and a bottle of alcohol - of some persuasion - in his hand. 

Ford runs up and punches him in the knee.

“Make it stop, you crazy lunatic! He’s in pain!” 

Rick just shrugs and says, “eh. It’ll be over soon, anyway.” 

Ford shouts in frustration and runs back to his crying brother. 

“Stanley -” he tries, but Stan knees him in the stomach on accident. He holds down his legs and yells, “Stanley! Stanley, show me, right now!” 

Stanley finally quivers and unveils his hands. There’s blood everywhere and a tiny finger poking its way through the healed-over scar, growing little by little.

Ford tried to stop the nausea before it bubbled up into his throat and failed.

“He- hey!” Rick piped up from the swing set, yelling over Stanley’s cries, “you know thousands of women go through this every day, right? Be glad we did this now and not when your body’s fully grown, haha! Thou - uuurp - thousands of women all across the world have tiny little pissants grow up inside them and stretch them out in one of the few places on the human body  _ everybody  _ feels self-conscious sticking out into the world and then they somehow manage to squeeze out a human child through a very tiny hole that shouldn’t even be able to stretch that far. And, and guess what? Some women can’t stretch that far. That’s - that’s just science. Bodies differ, Stanford. Some women used to die if they tried to have kids. That hole would stretch too far and then they’d bleed out because medicine had only progressed to the point where we could deal with simple war amputations, but no one bothered to try to save a woman giving birth to the next generation of war amputees.” 

Ford was giving Rick a strange, horrified look. 

“What? What was I saying? Oh - my point is, women squeeze babies through holes that don’t fit every goddamn day, so like, grow a pair. Li-lick my balls.” 

Ford tried and failed to formulate a response, but was saved when Stanley cried out from behind them, “is that really where babies come from?” 

Rick looked to Ford for help with that one, but was met with a pale-faced stony silence. He spat up some stomach acid and graciously remarked, 

“Oh my fucking god.” 

\------------------------------------

Turns out they were thanking Rick later for the pain he caused when they were able to seamlessly switch clothes and names. They realized that after a few tense moments where their mother asked Stanley to pass the salt that much like Rick Sanchez, no one ever bothered to actually look at Stanley’s hands for long enough to know the difference. 

So, Stanford finally learned how to fight a man and Stanley finally got to go to space camp. 


End file.
